Nightmare with Hair

One fine day I decided to get my haircut. I usually don't pay much attention to my hair since I consider it as just another part of the body, whose job was solely to grow. But, I started noticing (after a few glances in the mirror) that not only was I losing hair drastically, but it was refusing to grow too. After that incident, I decided that I must spend 5 to 10 minutes everyday with my hair, if not nourishing it, atleast talking it out of falling. In a few days it so happened that the hair was being really obstinate and wasn't listening to any of my pleas. That's when I decided it was time for me to take action on it rather than it taking action on me!

The next step was to find out who was the cheapest hairstylist in town, so that I didn't have to burn a huge hole in the pocket trying to act on my insolent hair. Having found the hairstylist of my liking, I decided to walk in when convenient for me only to realise that getting my hair cut needed a prior appointment. Phew! What a major task I had ahead of me. I finally booked an appointment for the next saturday, dreading each minute I had to spend looking at my hair, which was now giving me threatening looks. Until saturday I couldn't make up my mind which style I must go for. I was thinking of all the famous personalities from Princess Diana to Hillary Clinton, and their hairstyles. I finally decided that I should ask the beautician what would suit me rather than me coming up with something really ridiculous. Afterall as any Indian I wanted value for the buck and I wasn't paying her peanuts.

The day finally arrived and as usual I was late for the appointment. The lady was not only irritated because I was late, but I had walked in just when she was going to close. Imaginably, I did not get the best of treatment initially, but had to pacify her, and tell her my woes with respect to my hair. She finally made a decision of what would suit me and I thought it best to go with her. Quietly I sat through the operation of hair dissection aka hair styling. At the end of it, when I did look into the mirror, I couldn't recognize myself. I had layers of hair all over and no two hairs seemed to be of the same length. Well, I guess that is in vogue now. Anyway, I thanked the lady and came back home feeling happy with my triumph over my hair.

But, my happiness was short-lived. The day after the D-day, my hair again started revolting and wouldn't stay in the way it was supposed to for the particular style. It was all over my face and most irritatingly over my eyes. All my efforts of pulling it and holding it behind went wasted. I felt so helpless that I couldn't do anything about it until it grew back. That's when I realised that fighting was futile and I had to accept the way my hair was. Thus ended the Hair War!